


The Lovers, The Dreamers, and Me

by ashangel101010



Series: Imperialistic House of Prayer [15]
Category: Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Armitage Hux Finds Out, Armitage Hux Has Feelings, Armitage Hux Has Issues, Armitage Hux Needs A Hug, Gardens & Gardening, Gen, Kylo Ren is Matt the Radar Technician, New Alderaan, Nice Armitage Hux, Other, Scarred Armitage Hux, Senator Leia Organa, Tattooed Armitage Hux
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-19
Updated: 2018-06-19
Packaged: 2019-05-25 06:49:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14971424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashangel101010/pseuds/ashangel101010
Summary: The Amidala-Skywalker-Organa-Solo family have a lot to hide, but rainbows do not.





	The Lovers, The Dreamers, and Me

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing in the Star Wars universe or anything in any universe; I just like writing stories in that universe.

The Lovers, The Dreamers, and Me

*

Suggested Theme:  

Main Theme- Rainbow Connection by Dan Stevens

*

            _The silver scales, once black as night, reflect the blue glow of hyperspace. The golden eyes hold none of the blue light. Red fire comes out of the serpentine mouth and burns the blue into white. And the Great Dragon closes its mouth to speak._

_“Saber, Shaper, Yun-Shuno, the moth resides in the Cold Room. The moth wishes for a warm place.”_

_“Then, why doesn’t he flutter to a warm place?”_

_“His wings are in tatters. He can’t flutter higher than a lord’s knee. Soon, he’ll only be able to crawl, and not even that far.”_

_“Why do you care so much for a moth? You’re so great, and a moth is just nothing.” Those golden eyes, beholder of Once Was and All That Could’ve Been, regard him._

_“You believed that you were nothing compared to your father.”_

_“But father’s a wizard at everything he put his mind to! He bends music to his will. He creates sumptuous feasts from thin air! He can see the past and its knowledge, which makes him more powerful than the Emperor!” He becomes the child that will defend his father. From anyone._

_“And you safeguard his memory to this day. But the moth needs a savior, and you can be that.”_

_“But how?”_

_“Let the moth in.”_

Armitage Hux wakes to tears wetting his pale cheeks. Sheeva, his fairy-child and familiar, look at him with childish confusion.

“I’m okay, Sheeva! It was just a dream!” And as soon as he said that, the images, the words, the present, tumble from the forefront of his mind to the black abyss of forgetfulness.

“Just a dream…” The blue and white realm of hyperspace ends. “Oh, we’ve made it to New Alderaan!”

New Alderaan, located in the Ash Worlds, is a sea-colored world that is the only livable planet in its system.

 _It’s almost blue like the Senator’s hair._ But not even a ghost of a smile graces his lips.

*

The Senator’s cottage is located on an archipelago isolated from the rest of the population. Each of the little islands have reddish-yellow sands that remind Sheeva of freckles that would dot their Creator’s face whenever he spent significant time in the sun.

Their Creator parks their ship in the designated palm-treeless field, several meters from the shore. Their Creator walks, while they flutter in front of him like a guiding light. It takes them almost twenty minutes before they reach the shore where the Senator is waiting for them. She is dressed in robes the exact shade of gray of the storm clouds looming above them.   

 _Her blue hair clashes with such somber robes!_ They have to clamp an ashen hand over their mouth to stop an inane giggle from slipping out. Their Creator told them that it’s rude to laugh at another’s misfortune.

“Senator, how are you doing on this cloudy morning?”

“Fine. I hope it wasn’t too much trouble for you to find this tiny island.”

“It took a while for my navicomputer to process the coordinates you gave me, but it’s quite ancient.” He sheepishly grins. She smiles politely and then turns her attention to them.

“You must be the fairy-child.” She holds out her hand towards their direction. They flutter to her and land, teeny-tiny feet first, on the palm of her hand. She uses her pointer finger to feel their petal-soft wings, their red downy hair, and, finally, their tiny hands.

“Your eyes are….golden.” They feel the disgust from her that is not evident on her Sabacc face. _Why does she not like my eyes? Creator said they’re the color of spun gold, and the universe seems to place high-value in it._

“Because of my….” Their Creator’s grin fades slightly. “Unique genes. Sheeva inherited some mutations; one of which is eye color.”

“Sheeva?” The disgust in her increases, which causes them to look away. “Oh, you’re…sensitive.”

“They are…empathic, and actually have the ability to send a _bolt_ of their feelings if they wanted to.” But their eyes remain focus on her palm. _Her palm has so many calluses and whitened scars on them; they remind me of Mara’s. They both have palms that belong on old people._

“So they can use the Force?” They look up and give her a shrug, which causes a mask-cracking smirk.

“I believe that’s the best answer we have for now.” Their Creator changes the subject. “It’s time to get down to business.”

She nods and gestures with a hand for them to follow. They move across the reddish-yellow sands at a speedy clip, passing acres of palm trees, grass, and crystal-blue water. It takes them ten minutes before the cottage comes into sight.

 _That’s no cottage! That’s a castle by the sea!_ Their little jaw goes slack from astonishment. They see towers of smooth blue and white metal jutting from the sands like it was built by some sea god. There are hundreds of narrow windows decorating it like stain glass in a cathedral. If it was sunny, they are certain the castle would have been a beacon of light.

“This is the cottage?” Their Creator manages without gaping like a dead fish.

“Yes, it’s actually a small replica of Castle Organa, the one on the Apalis Coast.” Sadness colors her mind a brittle blue.

“It’s not my intent to offend, but your cottage is more like a manor.” Their Creator commented. She almost smirks.

“You would know since you grew up on one.” _How does she know that?_ They wonder.

“Pfft! The Hux manor was a murder house.”

“It couldn’t have possibly—”

“No, it really was. Some inbred lord was murdered by his cousin-wife for diddling the gardener. She first buried the body in the garden, but then, decades later, stowed it in the vents when there was no flesh to rot like spoiled eggs.” They expect her to look horrified, but, instead, she purses her lips like she doubts their Creator.

“How do you know this?”

“Because I was crawling in the vents when I found it. My father then told me the story, then gave me the skeleton, and I named him Sir Ludo.” Her brown eyes widen, and she says nothing for a moment. _Just like Matt/Kylo; they even have the same confusion in their eyes._

“…….I hope it was cleaned.”

“Of course!” Their Creator responds cheerfully.

Her coral-colored lips turn into a firm line, but she makes no comment. She guides them inside into the foyer. The storm clouds soak sections of the white pleekwood floors, clashing with the natural serenity that the blue and white walls held.

 _But what really sticks out like a sore wing is that gold statue!_ The gold was pounded into a hollow husk of an insectoid that has gangly, twiggy arms and legs with stumps of stubby claws. It has a curved, elongated snout and cavernous eye-sockets.

“A malator?” Their Creator grimaces at it like he drank sour blue-milk.

“In legends, malators protected my family with their magic.” _Did the magic come from their trunks?_

“They’re also pieces in dejarik.” Their Creator grumbles.

“Not fond of the game?”

“The Commandant’s Cadets would always hog the hologame tables to play that game.” They see a slither of green envy in orange annoyance.  

“You weren’t part of that group, even though you were the Commandant’s son?” A burst of red anger colors her aura.

“The Commandant hated nepotism, so he wouldn’t let me join those elitists!” Their Creator smirks smugly. “Most of them washed out.”

“And the rest?”

“Still trapped in the FO, I imagine.” His blue eyes drift away from the statue and towards the green-gray, fogstone arch located underneath the spiraling, Selonian marble staircase.

“The courtyard is that way?” She nods.

“I must warn you that I haven’t had time to find a gardener for the summer, so it’s a jungle in there.” Their Creator grins crookedly.

“You should’ve mentioned that on Hapes during the negotiation. Now, I’ll have to slap on another charge, Senator.” The Senator’s lips twitches upward like she’s bemused. Her comlink beeps in one of her robe’s hidden pockets.

“I better take this. I trust you don’t need me to escort you?” Their Creator nods. “Then, I’ll see you in a couple hours. The kitchen is at the far end of the courtyard. Help yourself to some Almakian apple juice.”

She then goes up the yellow steps, presumably for privacy in her office.

“I bet the Centrists are muckraking her Populist allies again.” Their Creator mutters once she’s out of earshot. He then strides into the courtyard, eager to conquer the jungle.

*

The ladalums have conquered the courtyard. These red flowers multiply exponentially in the presence of other Alderaani flowers, such as the starblossoms that also make their home in the courtyard, making their victory assured.  

The branches of the curved trunk hydenock trees are scraping against the open-air hallway on the second floor, while aggressively poking the rainbow lichen on the oro woods. 

The chalky malla petals and tawny kebroots are segregated from the rest of the wild by a dollhouse fence that has rusted red after years of natural abuse. The arallutes, purple trumpet-shaped weeds, have strangled the life out of the culinary plants. Armitage returns the favor.

It doesn’t take long for him to kill the rest of the weeds for they were surprisingly so few of them. _When she said “jungle,” I was expecting two-meter high weeds and a sea of grass, but there’s only a few pretty weeds and trees that need pruning. And the flora is growing quite well, so I don’t understand why gingerbells keep dying here._

He takes off his beige-colored backpack and loosens the drawstring to open it up; he rummages through his bag until he finds the soil and water analyzer. The analyzer has a screen no bigger than his palm with an extendable wire. He inherited the analyzer from the Commandant.

He sticks the wire into the ground and only has to wait a minute for the analysis.

 _The soil is unpolluted and fertilized by Drebin compost._ Sheeva flutters in front of him mirroring his frown.

 _Perhaps, the Senator didn’t have time to take care of the gingerbells…_ He then thinks about how manufactured the _jungle_ is.  

_The grass looks like it was mowed only a few days ago. All of the flora look like they were watered recently if the greenness and blooming flowers are anything to go by. The branches of the hydenock trees are blocking what little sunlight there is, but that must’ve been recently since the lichen haven’t turned brown._

They send a bolt of worry into him.

“It’s all very suspicious, Sheeva.” Sheeva furrow their long eyebrows as though they agree. “I need you to look around, while I continue the job. I have a feeling that the Senator may have an ulterior motive for me.”

They nod heartily like a squire accepting a quest.

While Sheeva fly away and search for evidence, Armitage prunes the trees. During his pruning, he finds that on the back of each of the trees are a trio of names carved into them: BEN SOLO, BEN ORGANA, PRINCE AMIDALA.

On the final tree, all the names have jagged lines through them as though the carver tried to strike them from existence.

*

At first, they explored every room that they would come across, even the ‘freshers. However, they quickly became exhausted from searching the dozens of rooms on the ground floor. And all they found was useless furniture and dust bunnies. So they then decided to explore rooms with holo-placards that read something other than “Room-That-Serves-Guests-Or-Has-Just-One-Function.”

On the second floor, they find that half the floor is devoted to offices, while the other half is rooms for the senatorial staff. They flit through the empty offices of senatorial aides, and find nothing but flimsi and computers with inaccessible terminals.

There is only one office left: LEIA ORGANA.

 _If your name is in all caps, it must mean you’re important._ They think and slip beneath the door’s crack.

The Senator’s office has the superficial façade of an office. There is a desk made of dark kriin-wood with matching chair. There is a computer with an inaccessible terminal and stacks of flimsi. There are shelves lined with datapads and some costly hardbacks.

There are half-rainbows of windows and soft, white couches that give the office a touch of coziness.

Then, there are the faded tapestries and commissioned paintings that give it a royal touch. Most of the paintings are landscapes of beautiful meadows, evergreen forests, and snowy mountains. They know that these landscapes are of Old Alderaan, and they only know because of the portraits of the royal family.

The portraits mostly contain dark hair, dark eye men and women dressed in understated robes of Alderaan blue. The women have braided hair, while the men have silver at their temples. An exception comes from a pocket-sized portrait of a young woman with winter-colored hair and cool eyes. 

But there is one small, oval-framed portrait that stills their heart. The portrait is of a human boy, no more than nine, with big, brown eyes and a large nose. His black hair is bound in a braided top knot with rebellious locks sticking out. His plush lips are unsmiling.

Their yellow eyes numbly read the placard beneath the portrait: BEN

*

Armitage is drinking from a flute of Almakian apple juice when Sheeva return to them. His Familiar’s yellow eyes are glazed over like they’re sick.  

“Sheeva, what’s wrong?” He holds his hands out for them to land on, but they choose to hover in front of their face, biting the bottom of their lip with their sharp teeth.

“Sheeva…” He gently presses, and their familiar sighs and sends them a bolt of their feelings.

It feels like an arboreal octopus has all eight of its inky-black, furry tentacles squeezing his heart into a pulp. It feels like…

“Betrayal.” He whispers, but it’s as loud as a scream to their familiar. “But who?”

They gesture weakly with their hands for him to follow like they’re going to lead him to his grave. As they lead him up the stairs and down the halls of the second floor, Armitage looks out the window and sees that it’s raining.

“The Senator’s office?” He reaches for the lever and gives it an experimental push, but he hears the click of it being locked. Sheeva slips under the door and goes to unlock it. Armitage pushes down and opens the door.  

The rain pounds relentlessly on the windows. He listens for the thunder as he looks around the office. He sees the white couches, blue walls, gray rugs, and the paintings. Sheeva fly to one oval-framed portrait, and Armitage looks at the source of their discontent.

And his heart wrenches.

“Kylo? Matt?” He touches the boy’s painted nose with his red hand.

“Ben, actually.” He feels too weary to give the Senator a dramatic spin.

“I thought he was dead.”

“That’s what….” _The FO? The New Republic? You?_ “He wants to believe.”

“When did you figure out your son was,” He finally faces her and whispers, “my boyfriend?”

“When I saw your hair. The Ewoks taught me that braid, and I taught Ben.” Vulnerability softens her firm tone.

“I see…..”

“So Ben is calling himself Matt…and Kylo Ren.” The shame in her eyes rankles him.

“Kylo…..” He starts, but feels his throat constrict.

“Ben is my son, and I want him to come home.”

_My boyfriend is……who is he? Does he even know who he is? Kylo? Matt? Ben?_

His inner turmoil deafens him to the beginning of her plea. “…you’re my only hope.”

 _They have the same brown eyes; dark with hurt, light with love. They will hurt me like Quoreal._ He wishes that he could hate them, but he is the Pardoner.  

“I will help you both.”

*

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s Comments- Here is the link:
> 
> Here is an image of Castle Organa, which existed in The Old Republic videogame, and that is what I used for the Solo Organa “cottage” because I figure Leia would want some piece of Old Alderaan on New Alderaan: [Link](https://vignette.wikia.nocookie.net/starwars/images/e/ef/Castle_Organa.png/revision/latest?cb=20150818140835)
> 
> I have not seen Solo and I don’t plan to read Bloodlines anytime soon. If ever. I have minor allusions to Bloodlines that I got from the summary on the Wookie. Will it play a major part in the rest of the series? Probably, probably not. Will Kylo/Matt/Ben “rescue” Hux? Who the pfassk knows? 
> 
> Anyways, here’s a preview for the next planned one-shot: Kylo wakes up to see that Yun-Shuno is back.


End file.
